Authors: Rules of Engagement
“At the end of the season I am leaving London to study art. I never changed my intentions. Nothing has changed.
Nothing."
Plucking the ticket from his fingers, she crammed it back into its drawer.
“Marry Miss Peacock, Magnus, or do not,” she told him as she stared blindly at the innards of the desk. “But do not allow your mistaken beliefs about my feelings pollute your decision.”
Eliza heard Edgar’s distinctive shuffle, could smell the tea he’d brought them. She heard the clink of cups as the butler placed the tray on the table. “No thank you, Edgar,” Eliza said, at last turning her gaze to Magnus. “Lord Somerton is leaving.”
Magnus stared at her. But it was more than that. He studied her, making Eliza highly aware of every move. She knew that she had to remain in control. That she mustn’t let him see into her heart.
“You do not want the tea, Miss?” Edgar said, notably confused. “But you asked me to fetch some for you. Mrs. Penny was at the market, so I made it myself… because you asked for it. I assure you it is quite good.”
She could feel dampness in her lashes and knew her grasp on composure was slipping. “That will be all, Edgar. Thank you.”
“So, shall I retrieve the tray, or will you take your tea after all?”
“Oh, for heavens sake, Edgar,
leave the tea.
I shall be delighted to take a cup,” Eliza said. As she watched Edgar scuffle from the room, she felt an errant tear splash on her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, then looked back at Magnus, bit the inside of her cheek and schooled her features. She said nothing more. Could not. Instead, she raised her hand and gestured to the door.
Almost mechanically, Magnus turned and slowly walked from the room. He did not look back.
The click of the closing front door drew Aunt Letitia and Aunt Viola. From either side of the doorway, they peeked into the library.
“Was that Lord Somerton, dear?” Aunt Viola asked with some trepidation.
“Yes, it was.” Already Eliza’s strength drained from her limbs. Her head felt as heavy as her heart.
In the next moment, she collapsed against the desk and slid down its polished side to the floor. She rested her forehead against its upper drawer.
“Oh my!” Aunt Viola gasped. “Edgar, help us, please.”
Together, Edgar and the two old women lifted Eliza to her feet and drew her to the sofa. Eliza felt Aunt Viola’s thin hand stroke her hair, whilst Aunt Letitia’s fleshier palm patted her hand, in useless efforts to comfort her.
“What happened, dear?” Aunt Viola asked.
“Yes, we thought things were going so swimmingly between you and Lord Somerton,” Aunt Letitia added.
Eliza shook her head, forcing her words through her growing sobs. “It—it is
over
between us.”
Aunt Viola’s gaze locked with her sister’s, then returned to Eliza. “But why, dove? Mayhap we can help.”
The offer jolted Eliza to her feet.
“No!”
Taking the lace-trimmed handkerchief Aunt Letitia held out, Eliza wiped her tears away. “Please. You have done enough. Lord Somerton and I are a match not meant to be.” Turning, Eliza rushed from the room for the sanctuary of her bedchamber.
Letitia followed Eliza out the door and watched her ascend the stairs. She shook her head in deep disappointment, then returned to the shelves and drew down the heavy red-leather volume. She laid it open on the table before her sister.
“We certainly have our work cut out for us now, Viola.”
“But Eliza refused our offer to help.”
Letitia seated herself beside her sister, blowing air through her lips like a hackney mare at sundown. “Pish posh! If ever a body was screaming for help, it is our Eliza. She is simply too proud to ask for it.”
Viola nodded her head in agreement, slowly at first, then with more vigor as she took to the idea. “I believe you are right, Letitia.”
Letitia puffed out her chest. “Of course I am. Have I ever steered us wrong, Sister?”
“Well, I remember once—”
Letitia lifted a stern brow, daring her sister to finish her sentence.
Viola lowered her gaze. “No, dear. Never once.”
“Well then, shall we begin? We’ve much to do if we want to reverse this dreadful situation.”
Lifting her lorgnette, Viola raised the scarlet ribbon that marked the next chapter in the
Rules of Engagement
and touched the bold black words at the top of the page.
Together, Letitia and Viola read silently, then simultaneously looked up from the volume.
“Brilliant, is it not, Sister?” Letitia exclaimed.
“Simply inspired!” Viola chortled.
Clasping each other’s hands with the excitement of the next strategy, the coconspirators giggled softly.
Magnus emerged from the Featherton household, yanking the brass door handle with enough force to send the knocker double-beating against the closed door.
She lied.
Eliza had lied and he damn well knew it.
His uncle’s footman opened the carriage’s cabin door for Magnus. Instead of boarding, however, Magnus turned and headed down the flag way, preferring the sobering effect of the cool rain to the shelter of the carriage.
Christ, he’d lost his ship, and now it seemed he’d also lost all chances to be with the one woman he loved.
The rain grew heavier, but instead of retreating to the carriage, which stealthily shadowed him in the distance, Magnus lengthened his stride. He needed to walk, to clear his mind. To block out the maddening din of his life crashing down about him.
In his heart, he knew full well why Eliza had lied about her feelings for him. She sought to be noble. To release him, so that he might do what he must to save Somerton and her people. But this knowledge did nothing to quell the aching of his heart.
As Magnus walked, the driving rain sent channels of water trickling beneath his collar, chilling his skin and irritating him all the more. But he walked on. He had to do something to right his world. He must.
He could no longer count on his ship to refill his family coffers. What choice had he now?
As logical as it seemed, to him and everyone else, he’d
not
marry the wealthy Miss Caroline Peacock. He was through making amends for his brother’s mistakes and he’d be damned if he’d relegate himself to a life of misery to atone for his brother’s greed and the havoc it wreaked on Somerton.
Not when he loved another. There was only woman he would marry, if she would have him. One hardheaded, over-chivalrous woman.
Eliza.
A new determination steeled him. He’d do whatever it took to make Eliza his own.
He turned around and when he reached the carriage, threw open its door. In the gray light Lambeth’s half-bottle of brandy glistened on the seat cushion. He snatched it up and opened it, eager to ease the twinge in his heart. Holding the bottle before his eyes, he stared at it as the rain splashed down upon its torn label.
Nay. Not this way.
He raised his other hand and pinched the inner corners of his eyes. Drink had plagued his family for two generations. It had stripped away everything he’d ever given a damn about. Destroyed his father. His brother.
He wouldn’t let it destroy him too.
Opening his fingers, he let the bottle roll from his wet hand. It smashed on the road, its sweet, damning essence trickling through the glinting glass into the gutter.
Dragging a gulp of air into his lungs, Magnus stepped into the carriage and closed the door. He knew what he must do.
For eight days more the rain continued to fall, draping the whole of London in its heavy gray shroud.
With an ache in her breast, Eliza draped a swathe of snowy linen over Magnus’s portrait and readied herself to leave the house. She gave not a care to the drips of paint at her sleeves or to her mussed hair. For days she’d worked from first light until dusk, before lighting candles to work by their glow late into the night. She was near complete exhaustion, but today, at long last, her half of their “arrangement” was fulfilled.
The portrait was ready and must be delivered to Magnus this very hour. She could not bear the heartache of looking at it, at
him,
any longer.
Grace watched Eliza, her brows drawn close with growing suspicion. “Where do you think you’re going?” Grace, who was always light of foot, flung her body against the door, blocking Eliza’s escape.
"Grace, please step aside.”
“You are taking the portrait to
him,
aren’t you?”
Eliza balanced the painting against her hip and tried to nudge her sister out of the way. “This is none of your concern.”
Grace stood firm. “Oh, but it is, Sister. It is of concern to all of us. Hawksmoor and I are on firm footing once more, now that he’s returned from Dunley Parish, and I’ll not allow you to ruin things for me.”
“So you’ve seen each other.”
“Yes, he came to the house. Not that you would have noticed, what with your eyes affixed to the canvas for days at a time.”
Eliza softened her gaze. “Oh, Grace, I am pleased you have rekindled your relationship with Hawksmoor. For I must admit, I have been desperate to learn who was the woman at the theater with him.”
Her sister shifted her gaze to the hem of her gown. “I— I didn’t want to upset him, so I… didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t ask?” Eliza slid a hand along the door until her fingers caught the lock.
Grace’s palm slapped down on Eliza’s hand before she could turn the lock. “Oh, no you don’t! How horrid you are to try to distract me.”
“Grace,
move
out of my way, please.”
“Aunties, come at once!” Grace shouted. “Eliza is—”
Eliza quickly cupped her hand over Grace’s mouth to stifle her alert.
A stampede of tapping canes and footfalls rolled off the passageway walls. The moment her aunts arrived, Grace warned them of Eliza’s intent.
Aunt Letitia lifted her quizzing glass and studied Eliza. “Is this so, gel? Are you heading off to see Lord Somerton?”
Aunt Viola began to fan herself with her handkerchief. “ Oh, dear. What a commotion this will cause within our ranks. Someone is sure to take notice and she will be ruined beyond repair.”
“Really now, Viola. Calm yourself.” Aunt Letitia turned her eyeglass from her sister to Eliza. “It will cause no commotion because Eliza is not going
anywhere.”
Eliza lifted her chin. “I
am
going. For over a week, I’ve painted all day and night to finish this portrait of Lord Somerton. And I am going to give it to him.”
“She is using this as an excuse to see him again,” Grace informed her aunts.
Eliza swung round to look at her. “I am simply fulfilling my promise to him.”
“Is that the truth, gel? Are you sure of that?” Aunt Letitia asked.
Eliza nodded. At least, she thought that’s what she was doing. Or was Grace voicing the truth of the matter?
“Well then,” Aunt Letitia continued. “You will not mind if I send Edgar to deliver the portrait. A unmarried woman cannot be seen visiting a bachelor at home. It is not done.”
Eliza glanced at the portrait in her hands. Of course she was using the promise of the painting to see Magnus again. In her heart she could not forgive herself for what she had said to him. For the lies she had told him. Even though it was what had to be done for the good of everyone.
The next thing she knew, Edgar snatched the painting from her hands.
“I shall take great care of it, Miss Merriweather,” Edgar told her. “I will deliver it directly into Lord Somerton’s hands myself.”
“Very good, Edgar,” Aunt Viola said. She hugged Eliza to her. “You could not have gone to his home. This is the right thing to do, child, even if it hurts.”
“I know, Auntie,” Eliza murmured. “I know.”
Eliza paced the floor for more than an hour, stopping to search for Edgar through the window every few moments.
Grace lounged on the sofa, rolling her eyes. “Oh, do sit down, Eliza.”
Turning to her sister, Eliza glared. “I have done what you have asked of me. I have broken my bond with Lord Somerton. I would think you would be somewhat appreciative.”
Grace snorted and looked into the cold hearth. At that moment, the door opened and Edgar entered the parlor.
Eliza raced to him. “Did you see him? How was he?”
“Please, Edgar. Do tell us what happened,” Aunt Letitia urged. “We want your every impression. Leave nothing out.”
The manservant turned to Eliza. “Lord Somerton was grateful for the painting, Miss, but it seemed he was saddened by it as well.”
Eliza sat down and pressed a quaking hand to her chest.
“He’s fallen on hard times, I’d wager, for Mr. Christie, the younger, from the auction house was there. His man was taking inventory of Lord Somerton’s household.”
Eliza looked up at Edgar, confused. “Inventory?”
“Yes,” Edgar replied. “It seems that Mr. Christie will be auctioning off Lord Somerton’s possessions in two day’s time.
A property
auction, I heard him say.”
Aunt Letitia’s facial muscles fell and she turned a hard eye on Eliza. “Somerton’s possessions up for auction? What is this all about, Lizzy?”
“His situation must be far worse than I imagined,” Eliza softly murmured to herself.
“Well, if you won’t tell them, Eliza, I shall.” Grace folded her arms at her chest and waited but a moment before sharing with her aunts all the details of Magnus’s financial downfall. “So there you have it. Somerton cannot marry Eliza without losing everything.”
At once, Aunt Viola caned her way to Eliza’s side. “Oh, you poor, poor dear. No wonder you’ve been so out of sorts. Why did you not come to us?”
Eliza looked slowly up at her aunt. “Because there was nothing you could do to change his fate. He must marry Caroline Peacock for her dowry or forfeit his home … his family’s history.”
Aunt Viola laid a gentle hand on Eliza’s shoulder. “But he loves
you.”
Aunt Letitia nodded, sending her double chin bobbing. “Of course he does, and Lizzy loves him as well, no matter what she claims. So it’s just lack of funds that stands between the two of you and the altar, is it gel? That’s nothing. Sister and I can assist there.”